A warm reflection on balancing authenticity with society’s expectations.
When the Sports Talk Starts
Have you ever found yourself stuck in a room where all the guys are talking about sports? They know the players, the stats, the trades, the odds. And if you’re not into it, you’re left nodding, smiling, and quietly plotting your escape. That was me for years.
It’s not that I had anything against sports—I just didn’t want to spend hours watching them. I had other things that lit me up. But when I couldn’t join in the conversation, I’d slowly back out of the room and find myself in the kitchen with the women. And the funny thing? That’s where the real conversation was happening—laughter, stories, meaning. I felt more myself there, even if it meant breaking the mold.
What Masculinity Taught Me
Like a lot of boys growing up, I got the memo early on: be tough, don’t cry, know how to fix a car, don’t talk too much about your feelings. It wasn’t always said outright, but it was there—in locker rooms, on TV, at the dinner table. You learn to perform a certain kind of masculinity that’s supposed to signal strength. But it can be exhausting if it’s not who you really are.
I liked art. Music. Deep conversations. I didn’t care who was winning the playoffs. And for a while, that made me feel like an outsider—until I realized the real problem wasn’t me. It was the box I’d been put in.
When Masculinity Turns Toxic
There’s a difference between healthy masculinity and what’s now often called toxic masculinity—the kind that equates power with dominance, emotion with weakness, and difference with threat.
You see it in some corners of our culture, and yes, even in our government. When strength is defined only by control or aggression, it breeds intolerance—for women, for LGBTQ+ people, for anyone who doesn’t follow the old script. It punishes vulnerability, mocks compassion, and shames authenticity.
This version of masculinity doesn’t just hurt others—it hurts men, too. It tells us to hide the very things that make us human. It cuts us off from connection and keeps us performing roles instead of living lives. That’s not strength. That’s fear in disguise.
The Rooms That Matter
Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had happened in softly lit rooms over a glass of wine, talking about books, family, memory, and meaning. No one had to perform. No one had to posture. These rooms weren’t always gendered—they were just open.
Over time, I stopped trying to fit in where I didn’t feel seen. I started creating rooms I actually wanted to be in. I invited people who were curious, creative, kind. And the best part? They showed up.
Choosing the Conversation That Feeds You
We all get to choose where we linger at the party, metaphorically and otherwise. You can stay in the room where you feel invisible—or you can find (or create) the room where you feel alive. That might mean going against what’s expected. It might mean leaving the pack. It might mean being misunderstood. But it’s worth it.
The Takeaway: Forget the Role. Be Authentic.
I used to think I was doing it wrong. Now I know I was just doing it differently. Gender roles can shape us, but they don’t have to define us.
You don’t have to be “one of the guys” if that means trading in your real self for a cardboard cutout. Instead, find the people who talk about things that matter to you. Stay in that room.
And if you can’t find one—make one. Drop the role. Keep the soul. That’s how change begins.
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